The timeless in you is aware of life’s timelessness. And knows that yesterday is but today’s memory and tomorrow is today’s dream. ― Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet
The year is dying soon.
Continue reading “Goodbye, 2016”
The timeless in you is aware of life’s timelessness. And knows that yesterday is but today’s memory and tomorrow is today’s dream. ― Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet
The year is dying soon.
Continue reading “Goodbye, 2016”
“It’s a short journey, be comfortable,” he says with a friendly smile.
I adjust the seat belt and notice him from the backseat. He is wearing tall boot socks and a pair of shorts. His vintage aviator is clean from a good maintenance.
“Can you suggest a shorter route?” he asks again with a smile. Continue reading “A stranger passes by”
The city library stores a million of books. On colder evenings when the sun and moon happily co-exist on the same sky, I love visiting the place. Mostly for a silent stroll. Mostly for the smell of the books. But truly to find new stories.
Nowadays my ability to smell things has increased. So when I enter the library, I am welcome with all my favorite fragrances- of old ink, of used books, of ignored coffee in the mug that people forget when they sit by the big windows gazing at those open pages. Each reader is a story there. And each reader has a favorite story where she looks for comfort.
At one corner, there is a little store that sells donated old books. I find some real gems, each time I stop by. It is a world where used wisdom sells for two bucks. Continue reading “Trading stories”
When it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.– Mary Oliver
I met you at a very tender age. You wore a purple top, so tight and low cut that nothing was left to the imagination. Your husband gave us little lecture on love and new beginnings. You giggled at every silly joke the evening made that day, and your judging eyes stared at my uncomfortable face for hours. It was our first meeting. Continue reading “Woman to Woman”
“Gardening is akin to writing stories. No experience could have taught me more about grief or flowers, about achieving survival by going, your fingers in the ground, the limit of physical exhaustion.” ― Eudora Welty
“time is a tree (this life one leaf)but love is the sky and i am for youjust so long and long enough” – E.E. Cummings
“There was a brief silence. I think I heard snow falling.”
― Erich Segal, Love Story
I don’t mourn perfectly. Grief acts like a shock to me, gives me chills, and puts my memory on a wide screen in a lonely theater. Lonely. Lonely, because most of the times, you’re the sole spectator of your own memory, unless you share the screenplay. Continue reading “The Journey”
I love the alphabet “X” because it’s mysterious and pretty ambitious. I manipulated it a zillion times in arithmetic and algebra and tried to find its value like a maths loving Sherlock Holmes.
It’s also very interesting how people use “X” to hide identities, “You know, that Mr. X appreciates your work.” I liked how I have been told during interviews,”You have that special X-factor we are searching in candidates.” Sometimes I wanted to know a real sketch of that X-factor. Continue reading “Xing”
“It’s all about window dressing. She’s just decorating her life with lies. Why are some people so fake?”
The question arrives along with two cupcakes and a pot of ginger tea. It’s still spring and afternoons are not really for tea breaks. But I’m here, meeting an old friend, discussing old stories. Mostly about people. Because people always love discussing about other people. We’re cursed blessed that way. Continue reading “Window Dressing”